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Chekhov's Gun

There were too many things going through Abel's mind for him to make sense of anything. For the first time since joining this little resistance cell, he felt a little uncertain about his choices.

Hada killed those two Regulians and Abel wasn't sure if she was telling the truth about them attacking her. They were both bound and seemed fairly subdued, but Regulians were descended from ambush predators and striking when you let your guard down was considered normal for them.

But suppose she did kill them, would that have been wrong? If you had asked Abel that a week ago, he'd have been certain that killing them would have been justified and perhaps he still felt the same way. But there wouldn't have been a little quiver of doubt like he had now.

It didn't help that there was a photograph taped to the dashboard of the truck of the two female Regulians clinging to both sides of a large, male Regulian with a thick mane. Their tails were wrapped around his legs and although they carried a typical, Regulian expressionless face, it was clear that they held deep affection for their mate, who might never find out what happened to them both.

Shouldn't have invaded us, Abel thought to himself, shouldn't have enslaved us, shouldn't have dragged us into their stupid war, should never have come here.

Outside the truck, the lonely darkness of the bayou was the only thing that could be seen, aside from the occasional isolated home.

Paper crumpled up beside Abel's head and he turned around to see Lobo clutching a pack of cigarettes in his paw, offering it. A thin, white cigarette was sticking out of Lobo's muzzle, gray smoke seeping out of it.

“I don't smoke," Abel said.

Lobo's nostrils flared and twin jets of smoke shot out, “Might want to change that. Everyone has something they do after a successful mission: Slick takes a shot of whiskey, Red drinks some fucking disgusting Vulpeculan liquor made from salt cactus, and me? I smoke."

“Mission ain't over yet, Lobo!" Red murmured and reached out from the sleeper cabin, running a black paw through Abel's hair.

Lobo cleared his throat and spun the wheel as he turned onto a freeway on-ramp, “You two can have the safe-house if you need some privacy."

“What do you mean?" Abel asked.

Smooth paw-pads ran along his cheek gently.

“Oh!" Abel muttered simple as he touched Red's paw, feeling the fine furs lining the top of it run along his palm.

“Just a bit of fun, smoothy, okay?" Red whispered. “That sound good?"

“Shit, masks off!" Lobo grunted before Abel could reply. Abel immediately complied and ripped the balaclava off.

Armored vehicles were lined up along the road, blocking the path while blue emergency vehicle lights flashed frantically. The Ducal Guards, wearing blue uniforms with plated vests and wielding a hodgepodge of weapons ranging from very lethal to less-lethal, were swarminig the area. Abel was surprised to see a fair deal of humans among them, something that would be unheard of in the King's Guard back in the Royal Territories in Southern Africa.

There were rumors about Duke Horith of North America being more open to humans ever since he publicly started dating a new consort of his, a human who was rescued from the first slave camp discovered, but that was probably just another propaganda trick, Abel figured.

One of the Ducal Guards, a human with a plate-glass shield across his face, was waving two orange sticks, directing them to pull off to the side of the freeway.

“Hide the weapons," Lobo whispered as they slowly veered off to the side.

“What's the plan?" Abel asked as him and Red began piling the guns into the sleeper berth where Red was lying.

“It's gonna get ugly, hope you're prepared to be a martyr, kid," Lobo took one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it out the window. He coughed heavily, smoke bellowing from his mouth. “That's a roadside weighing station and I reckon we're gonna be about several hundred pounds under the manifest. If we can't talk our way out of this..."

“I think I can." Abel placed his hands on his chin

Just like back in Ralothburg. Don't give a name, but if you must, make it Peter Montana. Peter Montana, Peter Montana, Peter Montana…

“Don't give a name unless they ask, but if they do, I'm Peter Montana? Okay? Repeat that in your head four times." Abel chanted very quickly and poked Lobo in the chest. “And you're Dondroth. Repeat that four times in your head and remember."

“What the fuck is he going on about?" Lobo looked over to Red with worry in his eyes.

“I can talk our way out of this," Abel whispered, seeing another Guard directing them to drive atop a metal platform. “Do they measure the entire truck or just the back?"

“Entire thing, they've got the front's measurements on the record too and factor it in."

Complete gibberish came rushing out of Abel's lips beneath his breath. Even to Abel himself, it meant nothing but it helped him think when under stress.

Lobo patted Abel on the shoulder, “I think I should-"

“I've got it!" Abel exclaimed. “Trust me, okay? I've done this before, back when I stole those slave camp documents. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's bullshitting authorities, I've got a knack for it. Just let me do the talking."

“Lobo, let the kid try," Red yawned casually as she drew the curtains shut around the berth, “I've got a good feeling about him."

“Fuck! Fine!" Lobo slammed his paw on the wheel. “But if shit gets real, make sure you die rather than get captured."

“I'm ready," Abel nodded.

The truck bounced slightly as it rolled up onto the scales and Lobo brought it to a halt, turning off the engine. The Lupiad began chanting something under his breath, it was gibberish to Abel but it sounded like some sort of a prayer.

Lobo jumped, his hackles puffing up, as a large fist banged against the window. The green eyes of a Regulian soldier were staring into the cabin, glowing like flames from the cabin's light. He was holding onto the side rail of the truck.

Breathing in, Lobo rolled down the window and a gust of humid, swamp air rushed in along with the musky scent of a Regulian.

“Good evening," the soldier said casually, nodding at Lobo and then smiling unnaturally at Abel when he saw him. Abel shuddered and wondered if the government was instructing Regulian officials to start smiling at humans as part of some ill-advised sensitivity training when in reality all it made them look like was hungry predators.

“Evening," Lobo muttered back.

“Union Biotech, huh? You're about half an hour behind schedule, everything okay?"

“Tch, you can blame this son of a bitch here!" Abel nodded towards Lobo. “Put down three whole plates of raw oysters back in town and we had to stop while he threw them back up!"

“Hah!" the soldier laughed. “Not used to the local food yet? It's damned good once you get used to it. Human cuisine is gonna be the next big thing, once the war is over. Heard the CEO of Friendly Foods is thinking about purchasing a bunch of human chefs and opening up a chain back on Regulus."

“Every subject of the Empire has to do his part," Abel smiled, “and if cooking up good food is what the Empire needs, humanity is happy to do our part!"

“Why can't all humans be as nice as you?" the soldier shrugged. “Speaking of which, since when did Union Biotech start hiring humans? Last I heard from the two Regulianesses who frequent this route, the President made sure that the only humans that make it in the building were test subjects or one of her slaves."

“Couldn't tell you, mate!" Abel shrugged. “We're third party contractors. Never worked for the UB before."

“Contractors?" the soldier's throat rumbled slightly. “Did something happen to the usual drivers?"

“Sick? Injured? Hell, for all I know they all joined the army and are bagging lizards as we speak!" Abel laughed. “The boss never tells us jack, just barks orders and we do 'em."

The Guard slapped the tiny flag patch on his shoulder, depicting the Ducal icon of North America: a blue leaf surrounded by white stars, “Think I know what you mean."

“Don't we all!"

The Guard leaned to the left, leaking over at something that Abel couldn't see, “Looks like you're a few hundred pounds underweight, care to explain?"

The air grew tense and Abel could have sworn he heard Red shuffle in the back, grabbing one of the guns she had hidden away. Abel made sure not to look away from the Regulian staring straight at him for a second.

“Well sir, pretty much damn well every job I do, we're underweight! And they sure didn't weigh us when we arrived, it was already in the manifest!" Abel laughed casually, blanketing the slow dread building up in his chest. He was volunteering information without being asked, false information at that, this was a rookie mistake.

The Regulian stared at them with a blank expression on his face, dispensing with the fake smile and reverting back to his species' typical face, which was completely inscrutable to the human eye.

“Happens a lot, honestly," the soldier finally said, “they probably fucked up and weighed it with two Regulians. Plus Union Biotech doesn't treat its test subjects very well, poor bastards are probably about half their weight after they got through with them!"

“It happens," Abel managed to blurt out, feeling a little ill.

“Anyway, I know you're in a hurry, so get on going! Long live the Emperor!"

“Long live the Emperor!"

The Guard climbed down the cabin and Lobo wasted no time in starting it back up against and rumbling away from the station, back onto the freeway. Once they were long past the truck station, Lobo patted Abel firmly on the shoulder.

“Good job, kid," Lobo grunted, “guess you ain't as much as a pansy as I pegged you for."

“Uh...thanks?" Abel said.

Red poked her head out of the berth and gave Abel a quick tap on the cheek with her nose, drawing in his scent as she pulled away.

Filled with a new confidence after that successful mission, Abel wanted to press his luck.

“Hey Red, about that safehouse..."

At a small warehouse in the outskirts of Metairie surrounded by nothing but overgrown farmland, a truck rolled past its side and rumbled to a stop at the back.

Immediately, the passenger door flew open and Abel came flying out. Red followed, leaping out and Abel just barely managed to catch her in his arms, cradling her like a newly wedded couple.

Abel looked down at her amber eyes, which silently spoke of her desires, and leaned in to give her a kiss. It was electrifying, the sensation when he felt their lips connect and his heart felt like it was about to stop when his tongue probed past her teeth. Her tail slapped against his back happily as he felt her paw reach down his pants and gently pinch his cock hidden beneath his underwear.

“Ah!" Abel shuffled, nearly dropping Red. “Careful!"

“Oh smoothy," Red whispered as she rolled out of Abel's arms, landing on the ground on all fours before sleekly circling Abel, nipping gently at his neck before grabbing him by the hand and beckoning him towards the warehouse, “you gotta throw caution to the wind when in the bedroom."

Immediately taking Red up on her advise, Abel lunged in for a surprise kiss but the Vulpeculan saw it coming and darted forward, wrapping her teeth around his neck. She didn't hurt him, in fact, there was an exciting sense of electricity dancing along his spine and his legs wobbled when he felt entirely at her mercy. Her long, canine tongue danced against his throat.

“Smell so fucking good," she said, muffled by Abel's flesh. Her nose sniffed against the side of his cheek.

Abel wrapped his arms around her shoulders and knocked her flatcap off with his head. He pressed his short nose into the fur atop her head and took in her musk. Vulpeculans had a very distinctive smell and a lot of humans claimed it was their beauty's one fatal flaw, some saying it smelled slightly skunkish. Abel didn't think any of that was true, it was strong smelling, that was for sure, but whether it smelled good or not, it was certainly having an effect on his heart and erection.

Releasing her grip on his neck, Red bent over, snapping up her cap and placing it atop Abel's head.

Abel stared down at the Vulpy, long repressed desire showing on his face.

“Lets go inside," Abel whispered.

“Follow me," Red whispered back.

Red's bushy tail brushed up against Abel's legs as he followed behind her, around the truck's engine and past the driver's door where Lobo was, leaning up against it with a snarl on his face.

“Oh, don't mind me!" he grumbled. “I'll just haul the fucking crates in all by myself!"

“You're a sweetheart, Lobo!" Red laughed and gave the Lupiad a friendly tap on the cheek with her nose. Aliens did this all the time platonically, yet Abel couldn't help but feel a bit jealous but did his best to keep cool.

“Next time I sure as hell ain't doing this! I get the safehouse whether I have Arthur with me or not!" Lobo whined. “And don't forget, you-know-who is releasing your boytoy's documents tonight on the air, you're gonna wanna see tha-!"

Lobo's cries were silenced as they entered the warehouse and Red closed the door behind them. The place was mostly empty, a concrete tomb long looted of all its valuables, but there were a few wooden crates lying about.

Red dragged Abel up a metal staircase leading up to a loft overlooking the warehouse floor. Upon ascending it, an office door greeted them along with windows that had close venetian blinds blocking them from seeing inside.

Opening up the door, Red led Abel into a surprisingly snug bedroom. Instead of the typical office furniture he expected, there was a double bed with red sheets lining it on the far side of the wall, a tall-backed reading chair next to a coffee table, and a black leather sofa facing a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. It looked more like a hotel room than a safehouse, a cheap hotel mind you, but still a hotel.

“Care for a drink, smoothy?" Red purred, running the length of her tail against Abel's rear and making her way towards a small cabinet by the bed.

“I'll have whatever you're having," Abel replied as he flopped down on the couch and picked up the remote.

“Two Whaiwoos coming right up!"

Abel gulped, remembering that Regnath would occasionally buy Yin a bottle of that for special occasions such as his birthday, the anniversary of Regnath purchasing him, and other such events. It was made from salt cactus, a plant native to Beta Vulpeculae, and it tasted like fermented sea water to Abel, but Yin and Regnath seemed to love it.

Still, Abel didn't want to be a buzzkill, so he didn't object and turned on the TV to distract himself and perhaps to calm him down a little.

A vast expanse of sand appeared on the screen with a massive white star visible on the clear, blue skyline. Distant, shrill shrieks echoed along the desert and an unusually soft-voiced Regulian narrated.

“Tribal Vulpeculans communicate via long-distances through various cries. These can be anything from a declaration of land ownership, a distress call, but most commonly..."

The camera suddenly cut to a male Vulpeculan with brown fur as he thrust his hips, his knot buried deep into a female Vulpeculan lying in the sand with her butt stuck up in the air. Both of them were letting loose horrific, ear-shattering shrieks.

“...to attract a mate."

Abel's face went red.

“As they are ruled by their emotions and instincts, they will mate constantly when in heat and will produce far more kits than they can provide for. Thankfully, the Regulian Empire, in conjunction with local Princes on Beta Vulpeculae, help ease that burden and give the kits a hopeful, new life as slaves to rich families elsewh-"

“This was kind of hot until it turned into propaganda," Red whispered into Abel's ear.

Abel jumped and turned to face the Vulpeculan. Red had two glasses in her black paws and was laughing maniacally.

“Ha! You should see your face, it's as red as my fur!"

A cold chill shot across Abel's cheek as Red pressed one of the glasses up against it, ice cubes clinking.

“Cut it out!" Abel complained, grabbing the drink from her and sipping it nervously. He instantly regretted that, only barely being able to swallow the intolerably salty Whaiwoo. If it had just a bit more alcohol, it might have been better, but humans had the best livers for alcohol in all of the Empire while Vulpeculans had one of the weakest, so their alcohol was naturally of poor grade.

“Look at you!" Red cooed as she stuck her paw down Abel's trousers. Her paw pads rubbed against Abel's cock, cradling it gently. “You got really excited seeing those two Vulpies rut, didn't you?"

“I got excited thinking about you," Abel said as coolly as he could.

“...some of the Princes had more interesting ideas about economic cooperation between Regulus and the Vulpeculan tribes. Princess Yaleen is one su-"

The broadcast suddenly cut out and the words, “Please stand by," where shown in black and white.

“Oh shit, it's your moment to shine, smoothy!" Red leaped over the back of the couch and landed next to Abel, her soft fur brushing up against his shoulders.

“What do you mean?"

“Those documents you got, the ones about the camps? Yeah, the leadership of the Terran Confederacy loved that shit and they're hijacking the TV and the Extranet to spread the good word."

Abel pulled out a datapad and opened up his Extranet browser, sure enough it automatically redirected him to the very same message.

“Open up your Extranet browser immediately!" a voice from the TV cried out. “Accept the download if you want to know the truth!"

A pop-up appeared, requesting Abel download a series of documents that he was already very familiar with and he rejected it.

A scene unfolded on the screen of a slave market on Regulus Prime. Various species, mostly humans and Vulpeculans, were lined up on blocked with their wrists and legs chained, sometimes bound to more exotic devices such as pillories or beds lined with silk sheets. No matter what, all had their genitals on full display as aliens examined them, probing them with their claws and noses.

“The Regulian Empire has gotten more brazen with its lies, having proclaimed that all such cases of so-called “Illegal slavery," and “Missing humans," were the result of secret Lacertan camps on Earth. Our loved ones were returned to us after their liberation and all of a sudden the cats started looking all nice and fuzzy, didn't they?"

The camera paused on a young woman's face. She was wincing as a Lupiad pressed his black nose against the tip of her tit while drool ran from his lips.

“Milly Samson," a photograph of her face from the documents appeared on the right, “kidnapped during the invasion and sold to a Lupiad criminal boss for one million crowns. She was kept as his mistress for five years until he grew bored of her and made her work in one of his many brothels. She was bought back by the Regulian government, who then claimed she was liberated from a Lacertan camp on Earth."

“You can find an entire list of all such purchases in the downloaded files," the voice continued. “The Regulians then claimed that all slavery in the Empire is done consensually, that those who enter into it do so of their own free will and their relatives are well-compensated."

The camera switched to a young man with smooth, tan skin. An aged Regulianess with a wrinkled pelt was feeling up his balls as he stared helplessly.

“Antonio Blanco. He was drugged at a nightclub in Lima and taken to a landlady's manor just a year before the camps were trotted out. He was purchased back after a year of suffering the old Regulian's most depraved whims."

A picture of Antonio, unconscious and on a hospital bed was shown. Both of his legs were missing, mere stumps in their place.

“The official story was that a sociopathic Lacertan slaver sawed them off, but in reality-"

Red suddenly tapped the power button the remote and tossed it aside.

“You already know how bleak this is going to get," Red whispered and began unbuttoning Abel's shirt, “lets celebrate in our own way. Or does the human mating dance involve watching television and scratching your balls?"

“Maybe if you're the one scratching them..."

Snickering, Red pulled Abel's pants away and rather than oblige his request down to the smallest details, instead she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and let her tongue dangle out. She brushed his cock up against her smooth tongue, running it along its pink length while Abel groaned with pleasure.

“Goddamn!" Abel hissed while the Vulpeculan's tongue tensed and wrapped itself slightly around the base of his cock. Although not nearly as firm as a human's tongue, it was enough to provide some constriction and intensify the experience.

“Mmmm," Red purred as she released her tongue's grip and gently lapped at the head of his growing cock, squeezing it like putty, “you like that?"

“Take your clothes off."

With a chuckle, Red slowly began disrobing. First her jacket was quickly tossed aside and then she undid her buttoned shirt, one button at a time and slowly revealing her snow-colored chest-fur. Just as Yin has told Abel, Vulpeculans always had a thick coat of fur despite their desert origins. Abel couldn't see any of the numerous rows of nipples lurking beneath the forest, so he reached forward, brushing his hand along Red's soft fur until he accidentally flicked one of the tiny teats.

Red growled pleasurably and grabbed Abel by the wrist, forcing him to continue teasing the nipple he had discovered.

“Help me out of my pants," she ordered.

With his one free hand, Abel pulled at her trouser legs, gradually dragging them off and uncovering more of Red's secrets.

Abel had seen inter-species porn before, but still, it was quite different seeing what laid between the Vulpeculan thighs in person. The shape, Abel could only describe as being similar to a fortune cookie except pink and it stuck out just a little bit more than a human woman's. Shape aside and when the matter of heat wasn't of concern, it functioned fairly similar.

“Do it!" Red moved Abel's hand up along her chest, past her shoulder and against the back of her neck. Abel felt the thickness of her pelt and squeezed, eliciting a moan, followed by pain as her claws dug into his wrists.

Red's tail was wagging quickly in anticipation and her thighs were squeezing and rubbing together as she moaned.

In a rare moment of throwing caution to the wind, Abel leaned over the Vulpeculan and pressed his cock up against her folds, grinding firmly into it as their mutual ecstasy was stoked.

She was tight. Abel felt like his dick was going to just about snap as he pushed his way in, fighting against the firm, smothering insides of her vagina. Perhaps it was more loose during mating season, Abel figured, but the pressure wrestling against his shaft was more than worth the effort.

Still grabbing Red by the neck, Abel bent over and forced her into a kiss, running his tongue along her lips and across her teeth as he pounded her as hard as he could.

“Yes!" Red screamed, scrunching up her snout in what could only be described as an ecstatic snarl. “Yes, Abel, yes!"

It was a little embarrassing for Abel to admit, but since it was his first time and Red felt exceptionally good he didn't last very long. Red's vaginal muscles were nothing short of powerful and Abel's pleasure threshold was unskilled and weak.

By the time his cock started shuddering, Red was licking at his sweaty chest, taking in whatever delights the human scent and taste had to offer. His cock spurted into her and despite the quick release it had been more pleasurable than any other experience Abel had in the past.

Abel collapsed onto the Vulpeculan, gasping to catch his wind.

“Viva la Revolution!" Red suddenly exclaimed."

“Viva..." Abel muttered, “...sorry..."

“For what?"

Abel looked down as his cock, which was still buried inside the Vulpeculan's folds as if he had knotted her like a male of her species.

Red cupped Abel's cheek with her smooth paw-pads.

“You did great for a first time," she whispered.

“I want to do it again..."

“That can probably be arranged..."

“I wanna..." Abel gasped, “...try it with a male too!"

“Cute!" Red laughed, pinching his cheeks. “Smoothy just lost his virginity and now all he can think about is playing both teams!"

Abel didn't have anything follow up with. His mind was getting dull and his vision began to fade. He was drifting off to the world of dreams.

Darkness had fallen on the freeway, creating a dangerous environment. The section of road that Rorgh navigated them through had no working streetlights, another sign of Earth being a backwater, Brolath figured. This wouldn't normally be an issue, but the “Cirrus," the wretched vehicle Brolath had insisted on, had no working headlights.

There wasn't a lot of cars on the road and both Rorgh and Brolath had excellent night vision but the “Cirrus," had a nasty habit of randomly shifting into neutral without warning along with the engine squealing like a Vulpeculan in heat. As a result, Brolath made an executive decision to pull into the first run-down motel they could find.

Joel's Motel, it was called, and it looked like it was built at least a century ago. The walls were covered in splintered wood shingles, the exact same kind lining the roof and both had patches missing. A dark sign with black letters promised ice, vending machines, and something called Cinemax. It also proclaimed Happy New Year 2015, which Brolath understood was twenty Earth years ago, right around the invasion.

Perhaps it's abandoned? Brolath thought as he exited the car, feeling a refreshingly cool breeze brush along his fur. That might make things easier in case they got too rough. Not on purpose, mind you, the Guard wasn't the Claw and officially they didn't have authorization to casually kill civilians, but humans were fragile creatures.

“Watch the perp," Brolath growled to Rorgh. Pat was banging his head against Brolath's seat, no doubt regretting his life choices.

The door to the check-in was unlocked but Brolath slammed it open regardless, scaring the life out of a pale, mousey human sitting behind a counter in the dark. He crumpled up an erotic magazine and threw it under the desk.

“FUCK!" the human, whose name was Joel, according to the name-tag attached to his shirt. From what Brolath understood, a name-tag like that was some symbol of being a slave in pre-invasion human society. “This is my motel, I own it rightfully, okay!? Ya'll can't just take it!"

“We need a room, you got vacancy?" Brolath grumbled, flicking his claws through old tourism pamphlets in a wire rack along the wall.

“Man, get the fuck out of here!" the human snapped, reaching under the counter. Brolath's ears twitched as he heard something click beneath the counter and immediately drew his pistol, pointing it at the human's chest, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“How impolite!" Brolath bared his fangs. “My friend and I were merely asking for a room from this fine establishment! But if you'd rather we get the Land Allotment Department involved, we could have them come on down and appropriate your motel for some rich noble, perhaps he'd even let you stay here as his slave?"

“A room!? Here!?" Joel's eyes went wide. “Fuck! Fine, okay! J-just let me look for the key, okay? Don't shoot me!"

Joel stepped back into a small office and popped the lights on. Nothing more than a small roll-top desk and a cabinet were in there. Brolath kept his gun trained on the human, but also grabbed a few old newspapers there were on the rack along with the pamphlets. That familiar number, 2015, showed up once again on the front cover and an article about a cluster of asteroids had been spotted near Saturn and were heading sun-ward. Brolath couldn't help but chuckle, wondering if those 'asteroids' had been part of the orbital bombardment campaign or if whatever telescopes the humans had didn't recognize a Regulian fleet approaching them.

Emerging from the office, Joel slammed a key on the desk, “There! Guess you ain't paying, huh?"

“Oh, I have every intention of paying," Brolath pulled out a card from his yellow jacket pocket and paused, still aiming the gun at the human.

“Yeah, uh, we don't take that. Ain't got the machine for it...whatever that is."

Brolath stared the human incredulously. They truly were in the backwater of an already backwater planet, “What do you take?"

“Fuck if I know! Ain't had a customer since you fucking cats landed! Just been kind of laying low here, y'know? Surviving! What the fuck else am I supposed to do?"

“So no one else is here, hm?"

“Except me, yeah."

“Alright," Brolath retrieved a form from his pocket and slammed it down on the desk. “Write down what you think booking the entire motel for the night is. You can write it down in Simplified Regulian or Traditional."

Joel stared down at the form, which was entirely in Simplified Regulian, dumbstruck at the script.

Why did we even create the Simplified script if the damned humans don't try and learn it! I learned their wretched language damn well overnight!

“You can write it down in Human, I guess," Brolath shrugged, “take it to the nearest Ducal Guard station and they'll compensate you. Just make sure no one else checks in, okay?"

“Uh, yeah, sure, I'll turn 'em all away."

“Good!"

Brolath snatched up the key and backed out of the room, gun trained on the human until the door was shut behind him. Brolath waved towards Rorgh and the Lupiad pulled Pat out of the car, dragging him towards the room.

“HELP! HELLLLLLLLLLP!" Pat screamed, kicking and screaming in a vain attempt to escape the more powerful alien's grip.

“Everything's gonna be okay, we just wanna have a quick chat, Pat!" Rorgh sang before throwing the human headfirst into the room. Pat bounced off of the corner of the mattress and rolled onto the ground.

“That's right, Pat, just a quick chat," Brolath bared his fangs as he quietly shut the door behind him.

Pat looked up at the two aliens with unrelenting fear. The human was skinny, small, and was shameful enough to have shaved his hair. This would be an easy break, Brolath figured.

The room was small, having little more than a bed sized for two humans and a dresser with a cubical television resting atop it. There was an awful smell lingering in the hideous, brown carpet, as far as Brolath could tell it was a mixture of ancient feces, urine, and semen.

Despite the filthy confines, it seems that someone had slept in it at some point. A thick layer of dust was on everything, but there were personal belongings lying around everywhere: books, postcards, a primitive datapad lying on the dresser.

Most noteworthy of all to Brolath was a stuffed toy lying down on the pillows. Brolath couldn't quite believe his eyes at first, but it looked like a four-legged Regulian and one that happened to share the same dark-brown fur as him.

“Heard you know a thing or two about tattoos, Pat," Brolath growled as he paced around the fallen human.

“Fuck! Yeah, who cares!? You wanna get tatted up, kitty-cat?"

“No, we're more interested in one of your clients, a fellow named Tommy."

“Shit, why'd he have to get wrapped up with the-!"

Pat's face went pale and he clammed up.

“With who, Pat?" Brolath grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look up at him. “if you tell us everything, we can have you back home by the morning all safe and sound-"

“Home!? You assholes just shot up my home!"

Rorgh started playing around with a datapad, “Perhaps the Beta Vulpeculae Loyalty Center instead?"

“Oh, that sounds nice!" Brolath slapped the human across the face. “Fresh air, lots of sunshine, breaking rocks all day and dodging rusty shivs wielded by the worst serial rapists and murderers Beta Vulpeculae has to offer!"

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck!"

“Here's a tip," Rorgh loaded up a music player on the datapad, one of the Guard's favorite interrogation tactics, “keep your head low and your butt high. Find the first gang leader and put out, maybe you'll spend the rest of your life in peace as a prison bitch!"

“I can't!" Pat screamed. “I can't!"

“How about we give him a quick moment to think, Adjunct?"

“Agreed, how about some music?" Rorgh tapped his claw on the datapad.

Brolath and Rorgh escaped the room, but not before Brolath grabbed the stuffed toy, shutting the door behind on them just as the soundtrack started played, a collection of the most horrific Vulpeculan scream bands in the galaxy. There was a good chance the human couldn't hear half of the notes with his inferior ears, but it was clearly enough to get the point across. Occasionally, Brolath would hear the human joining the chorus of shrieks inside the room with pain wracking his voice.

The two Guards leaned up against the wall of the motel and sighed in unison.

“How long you think he'll last, Captain?" Rorgh kicked at some dirt.

“Lets go back in after the second song and see."

Brolath brought the toy to his nose. At first, the dust tickled his nose, almost bringing him to sneeze, but he was able to fight it off and snuffled at the old cotton fur. Beyond the spicy, salty taste of dust, Brolath caught three scents on it: a female and two males. One of the male's scent was stronger than the other, likely the child who owned the toy and it was clear he was quite fond of it. Sage and lavender were the key notes, this had been through many happy times and more complex aromas, ones that Brolath couldn't quite place made themselves present.

I wonder how many places this thing has been to? Brolath pondered. And why someone would leave it behind?

2015, Brolath thought, deciding not to think much further. There was not going to be a happy answer for him. The Regulian Empire brought stability to the planet but there was the possibility that this family had been killed during it.

Brolath wasn't sure how that made him feel. It felt like something had been destroyed here, something that could never be restored.

“It's a lion," Rorgh pointed out, “looks kind of like you, Captain."

Grumbling, Brolath tucked the stuffed lion into the pocket of his shirt.

“I'm not even going to ask!" Rorgh shrugged.

At one point Joel came out of the motel and complained about the noise but all it took was a hard stare from the two Guards to make him head back into the office.

“The Eternal Summer of Beta Vulpeculae," came to a close and the two suffered through listening to the finishing echoes of “Eternal Torment of the Sands," before barging back into the room.

Pat was banging his head against the dresser with his hands still bound behind his back, trying to knock the datapad onto the ground.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey there, Patty!" Rorgh gave Pat a quick kick in the ribs before shutting off the music.

“GLASS!" Pat screamed.

“What?" Brolath asked.

“Glass! Tommy told me Glass ordered him to get the tattoos for s-some mission!" Pat sobbed and curled up in the fetal position. “I'm dead! I'm fucking dead!"

“Who's Glass?" Brolath growled and grabbed Pat by the chin, forcing him out from hiding. “Answer me!"

“I don't know!" Pat cried. “All I know is Tommy was bragging about some rebel leader named Glass giving him a secret mission and the tattoos were part of it! The tattoos were meant to confuse the authorities! Lead them away from who's really behind it!"

“Adjunct," Brolath swished his tail, looking at the Lupiad, “I think you owe me a drink."

“You called it, Captain!"

“Where's Tommy?" Pat sniffed. “Where is he? He's a good kid, okay? Don't hurt him!"

“You heard about that gas attack in Paris? We have reason to believe he was involved with it. He's dead now."

“Christ!" Pat shrieked. “Tommy! Why couldn't you have just stuck to meth?"

“But this Glass person..." Brolath placed the heel of his boot on Pat's chest, “...tell us more?"

“I only know his name, I swear!"

“Adjunct," Brolath snapped his fingers, “see if there's room at the Beta Vulpeculae Loyalty Center for a sorry sack of shit."

“CHRIST! YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME! YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME! I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T KNOW!"

Rorgh bent over and stuck his nose straight in the human's face, sniffing intently. Even Pat, as distraught as he was, went still, tears trailing down from his eyes.

“He's telling the truth, Captain."

“Oh my god!" Pat gasped. “Thank you!"

There was a common myth that the Empire had allowed to spread among the populace of Earth, namely that the other aliens of the Empire could sniff out lies, especially the canid ones with their long snouts. This was not entirely true, but certain specialists such as Guards and Claw Agents could be trained to better detect lies by examining things such as body language and scent.

In this case, Brolath had to agree. Pat was a pathetic waste of space but everything about him screamed that he was just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The datapad started humming and Rorgh left Pat to go attend to it. Brolath knelt down and patted the human on the side of the cheek.

“Alright, we're going to need to take you in, but seeing as you've done nothing wrong I think we're only going to need to hold you for about a month or so."

“A month!? What the fuck!?"

“Wartime measures, it's for everyone's safety! All suspects are held for a minimum period defined by the local Guard chapter," Brolath shrugged, “but if this Glass individual comes after you, you'll be safe and sound in your cell!"

“Captain!" Rorgh suddenly exclaimed. “Get over here!"

Remembering the last time Rorgh had tried to warn him lead to a gunfight, Brolath immediately sprung up and darted behind the Lupiad. Rorgh was staring at the screen of the datapad, his hackles were raised in fear. When Brolath saw what was on the screen, the Regulian felt similar fear rush over him.

“What the hell!?"

Rays of sunlight cracked through the venetian blinds lining the window and Abel pushed his sheets aside, looking around.

It was morning and he was alone.

Figuring Red and Lobo were elsewhere in the warehouse, he thought nothing of being alone and made his way back to the couch, the same one he had made sweet love on just a few hours ago, and flopped down. A datapad with an envelope lying on top of it was on the coffee table, which caught Abel's eyes, but not enough to distract him from his purpose of turning the TV on so he could get his daily dose of propaganda.

He couldn't have known what he'd be exposed to.

“-Imperial officials have not release death tolls-"

Fear welled up in Abel's heart. It was not the first day that the TV had grisly news, far from it, but a superstitious alarm deep within his head was ringing. Something dreadful had happened and he was involved.

“To recap: do not open up any files downloaded from the Extranet!"

Datapad footage taken by a group of humans watching the television was shown. The very familiar “Please stand by," was plastered on the screen and most of the friends were idly watching it, complaining occasionally about their show being cut off.

All except for one. A man of about thirty years old whose face was glued to his datapad. Even from the distance that the camera was from him, Abel could tell what he was reading: one of the many slave camp documents that he had stolen.

Suddenly, the man began to convulse and he fell back into his chair, dropping his datapad as blood seeped from his nose. The video cut out shortly after his friends rushed to him for help.

“-over one hundred thousand humans have been hospitalized!"

King Hrolar himself showed up on screen, standing in front of a podium wearing a shiny, orange military uniform that blended in together with his fur quite well. The Eastern Regulian looked quite dashing with his jet-black stripes and his paw resting cockily on the hilt of a saber sheathed against his hip.

“The government has found no common threads among victims but some are known to be former captives of the Lacertans. Health Minister Garoth believes that past trauma and disbelief of the slander in the documents might be a contributing factor in this tragedy," gripped in his hilt tightly, Hrolar's brow furrowed and he leaned into the microphone, “this despicable act, targeting our most vulnerable citizens, shall not be forgiven. I am offering a reward of ten million crowns for any information that leads to the capture of whoever is responsible!"

Hrolar's eyes stared straight at the camera, as if he was addressing Abel himself, as if they already knew he did it.

The datapad started humming but Abel couldn't do anything but stare at the carnage on the screen. It didn't seem real, like it was just another piece of Regulian propaganda cooked up on the spot, but it all fit together too well.

They must have had kill-switches on them just for this occasion! Abel thought, frantically trying to explain this. Everyone effected must be one of the bought slaves and they're trying to dispose of the evidence!

Abel wouldn't put it past the Regulians to do such a thing but at the same time doubt beset him. Could they have really done this? Were they this prepared?

In the end, what did it matter? Abel was now responsible for a hundred thousand injuries and however many deaths the Empire would admit to.

Nothing could make him feel good about this. But the worst feeling out of all of this, as selfish and foolish as it felt for Abel to admit it, even worse than the deaths themselves: for the first time in Abel's life, he saw the King of Earth and thought he was the good guy.

Abel's hands shook as he reached down towards the coffee table, pushing aside the humming datapad and tearing the envelope open. A tiny decryption device clattered onto the ground along with a small sheet that fluttered out onto the table with a few bold words on display.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?"